


The greatest thing you'll ever learn

by Beautiful_blues



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:16:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_blues/pseuds/Beautiful_blues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a boy with a crush that I'm pretty much making up as I go along</p>
            </blockquote>





	The greatest thing you'll ever learn

That boy, and his suits. His impeccable dressing taste which always makes it so hard for Ryan to tear his eyes away from him. He always does stand out amongst the other choir boys at their church. Sure, the others dress sharp as well, they have to, seeing as it's church. But no one does it like him. Everything about him is different. The collar of his dress shirt that hugs his throat, which is practically begging for attention the way it constricts and fluctuates as the boy sings each line. Ryan's eyes move hesistantly upward to take in the features of his face, beginning with the smooth curve of his jawline. Stopping next at his mouth, sweet lips soft and youthful, bouncing as they sing. Then nose (which is undeniably the slightest bit unique, and compliments him in such a way that sometimes looking at him gives Ryan a strong sudden urge to take a picture, or hell, paint a picture to capture his beauty). Then eyes (which cause Ryan the most heartbreak and pain of all, because when he looks at those eyes, those deep brown pools of wonder and joy, he knows he'll never be able to properly stare down into them, and see their reactions as he says loving, meaningful words). Then lastly his brows (which still remain full and classically shaped, the left one sporting a scar that Ryan would love to get to know the story behind) and his hair (which is a neatly combed short style, somewhat long on the top. How Ryan would kill to see that hair untamed, just out of bed and ruffled from sleep or, God forbid, sex). But Ryan cannot get to know any of those features. Because Ryan, to be completely honest, would have to get to know the person underneath them first and he's much too shy and cripplingly afraid of rejection and relationships in general for that.

Ryan still keeps an eye on him once they're all done singing. Ryan hopes its not too obvious to his his family how intently he watched the boy's every move. Eh, what did it really matter how he stared? His parents never really paid enough attention to him for longer than a minute to notice anyway. Something lustful and dangerous inside of Ryan thinks amusedly that he could fuck the boy onstage in front of the crowd and his parents would still be too preoccupied to care. As the preacher politely thanks the boy's choir and begins to wrap up the sermon, Ryan reluctantly looks back up on stage, trying his hardest not to let his eyes stray over again to the back of the boy's head just two rows in front of him. 

As people trickle out the front of the church, him trailing behind his parents, he spots the boy again. He's in a sunny spot of the parking lot, eyes bright and teeth shining as he laughs at a joke some other kid told him. Ryan recognizes the kid as another member of the choir and also part of the small group the boy sits with at lunch. He also recognizes the worn in purple minivan they stand in front of. Ryan is a little embarrassed to say he's began to associate the shade of purple with him, and blushes when he sees it on a passing raincoat or random book cover. For a split second the boy's gaze flits to where Ryan stands, and Ryan freezes in place, feeling caught. The boy simply takes in Ryan's appearance very quickly, so fast you could miss it, then averts his attention back to the conversation he was having, his head nodding thoughtfully. Ryan tries hard not to let himself believe that that millisecond of attention had meant anything. Why would it? The boy had his neatly cut church friends. Why would he take interest in a skinny loner such as himself, with light brown hair that hung in his eyes and a slouch in his frame. Damn, Ryan could be really harsh on himself. But he was just trying to be realistic. 

Hiding away in his room at home, Ryan seeks refuge in his closet, crouching over his notebook with a penlight illuminating the pages. It may seem like a strange place for a writing session, but Ryan has grown very accustomed to it, and learned to love it. It's the only way he feels truly alone, for one thing. The door to his room suffers a football sized hole right in the middle, a result of his father's drunken rampage and decision that the door to Ryan's room needed a little more lamp thrown through it. For another thing, the nearly constant sounds of screaming and arguing that come from downstairs are much more muffled when he hides away in the closet with a towel stuffed under the crack in an attempt to muffle it even more. Right now is a prime example of this, and so Ryan does what he always does. Waits. And writes. Waiting for there to be a break from the fighting. Writing because he knows there won't be one soon and damn it, he's got a lot of feelings about that that need to be expressed in some way or he might explode. He's only got the one friend to talk to, after all.

School is the same, with teachers teaching, jocks jostling him in the halls, and an angelic air seeming to hang around the boy as he walks from class to class. Just before lunch is Ryan's AP English class, the only one he shares with the boy he's spent so much time thinking about. Ryan spends most of the class only half listening. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers the flow of students going up to the front of the class and walking back to their seats but it doesn't really hit him what's happening until the girl's shoes that he's zoned out on are walking back to the seat next to him and his name is being called. 

"Ross. Do you have your poem ready for your oral presentation?"


End file.
